


Your Hands Grow Strong, Your Fingers Long

by Infinite_Finals_Week



Category: The Adventure Zone (Podcast)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Argo does die but just for like a second, Argo is Sad :(((, Demon Argo! ):), Established Tendermen but it's not a big part of the plot, Gen, M/M, Multi
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-10-19
Updated: 2020-10-19
Packaged: 2021-03-09 01:55:31
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,768
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27096922
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Infinite_Finals_Week/pseuds/Infinite_Finals_Week
Summary: “Do you want to read it or not?” Grey says, gesturing at the blackboard.Argo looks back over for a second. A few phrases jump out at him. “It might not be worth wasting time on him”, “The others will probably be glad to have him gone for a while”, “It will speed them up once he disappears”. Argo’s grip on his rapier tightens, and he swallows hard.“No, I’m good, actually.”
Relationships: Master Firbolg & Argo Keene & Sir Fitzroy Maplecourt, Master Firbolg/Argo Keene/Sir Fitzroy Maplecourt
Comments: 1
Kudos: 22





	Your Hands Grow Strong, Your Fingers Long

Argo feels cold. _Charm Person -_ or whatever version of it had been on him - is a buzzing feeling, but a warm, soft buzz, like the feeling he gets after a good training session when an excited Fitzroy will pull him to his chest and wrap his arms around him, or when he and the firbolg will sit on the floor of their room and sew. He’s grown used to it over the past few weeks, sunk his psyche so deeply into artificial feelings of camaraderie that to have it suddenly gone is a hot iron to his face. 

Argo wakes up sick to his stomach, hollow but still heavy, all dead meat and frozen bones. Grey’s hell dimension isn’t nearly as difficult to just exist in as it was a couple months ago, but it’s not by any means comfortable. He can tell the change is more than just him getting used to it, too- his pupils are wider, and his irises are a slate gray instead of their usual brown. The external gills next to his ears - a mostly useless result of his ancestry - are longer, stiffer. Plus, he’s pretty sure he has nematocysts now? Grey patted his bare arm once the other day and surprised him, then he had looked at his hand and left very fast.

He crawls out of bed, pulling on clothes and offering a quick “Heya, Tim!” To the armanite who guards his room.

The trip to Grey’s room is easy to make, familiar in a way that now, with a clear head, he doesn’t like to think on too long. Argo bangs on his door, and it opens almost immediately. Grey, who is dressed in business wear a sticky, sickly pink, looks, of all things, annoyed. He wears a scowl with his suit, and when he sees Argo he rolls his eyes.

“I had hoped you’d just leave.” He says. “But I’ll have to take you back. Though I suppose I should have anticipated that you would disappoint me.” 

“What?” Argo says, giving a little half-laugh. He’s back to full mental capacity, but as the anxiety in his stomach twists his brains and turns his tongue to lead, he almost wishes he weren’t. 

Grey yawns like he’s bored and gestures for Argo to follow him. They walk through winding halls for half an hour, occasionally stepping straight through them and into a room on the other side. By the time they get where they’re going, Argo is thoroughly turned around. 

The room they end up in is a small one, with a single window showcasing a churning lake of black oil outside. On the opposite wall is a blackboard, where, written in chalk, are the words “My ‘Keene’ Plan”. 

Argo chuckles weakly, humourlessly. “That’s a, a good joke! A real ban-,” 

Grey smacks the backside of his head. “If you’re going to make a comment after every clause, I can throw you out now.”

“Right, right...,” He pulls his jacket a little tighter around his shoulders, pulling on with it an air of false cheer and a strained smile. “Argonaut believes he’s not of any use to the group, fears that are not, not unfounded.” His throat contracts. “He’ll be the easiest to pull away. If I give him something to do, compound it with some enchantment, he’ll be easy to...to manipulate.” Argo’s eyes flick to Grey, who is watching him carefully. “Why’re you showing me this?” 

“I figured it would be rude to just throw you out without an explanation.” Grey’s mouth splits into a grin, giving Argo a good view of his knifelike teeth. “Even if you’re no longer useful to me, I am nothing if not a good host.”

Argo’s hand goes to his back to pull out a rapier. “You’re nothing if not a damned bastard.” His words are full of venom, but his voice trembles. 

“Do you want to read it or not?” Grey says. He stares down at Argo with distaste, but his eyes are blown wide.

Argo looks back over for a second. A few phrases jump out at him. “It might not be worth wasting time on him”, “The others will probably be glad to have him gone for a while”, “It will speed them up once he disappears”. Argo’s grip on his rapier tightens, and he swallows hard. 

“No, I’m good, actually.”

Grey shrugs. “It didn’t even work as well as I thought it would. The plan was to distract them for a little while, but they weren’t even as worried as I thought they would be. Honestly, I think they believe the best thing you could do for them is travel to the opposite corner of Nua and never talk to them again.”

Argo has his blade pointed at Grey’s throat, but he hardly moves. “Stop.” His hand is shaking. His eyes burn.

“You were never important- it was about getting everyone to pay attention to you instead of me. You’re just such a little nobody they didn’t care, I guess.”

“I _am_ important. People care about me.” Argo says emptily, retrieving his other rapier from his back even as his vision blurs. “Stop it.”

“Who? Your dead mommy?”

Argo swings at him right as Grey pulls up a portal back to Nua, and he tumbles through. He lands in slick mud that stains his jacket sleeves. He swallows his emotions for a moment, stands and stumbles a few steps.

He lurches forward with a sob, hand flying to his face. Even with nobody around, he can’t bury the feeling that he’s just crying for sympathy, but by god he can’t _stop._ His brain is a whirlpool, and all of his thoughts ships. He feels sick and dizzy. He falls back to his knees. 

They hate him. Argo lies in the dirt and cries for what feels like forever, until he’s dreary and exhausted enough to fall asleep there.

* * *

Argo doesn’t expect to wake up in a bed, especially not his old bed from school, but this is definitely the room he and the firbolg shared. Neither of them have many worldly possessions, but there’s a pile of knitted scarves on top of the dresser, and by the side of his bed there’s a thin stack of _Larry the Lime_ volumes. For the second time that day, he climbs out of bed. He can hear Fitzroy talking through the door.

“The timing isn’t ideal, but it’s better we found him now rather than never.” He says. He sounds tired. “Where’d you find him?”

“The forest. He was……….… bad.” The firbolg says. “His skin is poisonous.”

“What?” That’s Rainer. There’s a pause. “Oh my god, you should go see Marie! What are you doing?”

The firbolg hums. “Who should know Argo is back? Me, you, Fitzroy- that’s all we need right now. We can decide what to do then.”

Argo opens the door, nearly hitting Fitzroy as it swings out. 

“You’re awake!” Rainer says. “How are you feeling?” She pops open a compartment in her chair and pulls out what is clearly a resealed jello cup full of green liquid. “I have healing potions, if you need them. I made them myself, so they’re not as effective as regular ones, but they work. Actually, firbolg, you should-,” She holds one out to him, and he takes it.

“Can I see where I stung you?” Argo asks awkwardly. The firbolg holds out his hands, and Argo almost takes one of them before catching himself. “No, those are stings, for sure. Do we have vinegar?” 

Rainer pulls two dozen plastic packets from that same compartment and blushes. “It’s just like, you never have them when you need them! You know! You know how it is!”

They spend the next few minutes treating the firbolg’s stings, with Argo making sure not to touch anything until Fitzroy suggests just wearing gloves, and then it moves much faster. They end up sitting in a circle in Fitzroy’s room. The clock on the wall displays the time - 2:00. 

“So, Argo? What’s the, uh, _deal_ ?” Fitzroy says. “You were totally kidnapped, right? Believe me when I say that we did try to get in to the hell dimension and, well, _raise hell_ , but every time we got even close, something else would come at us. Grey’s really kept his home turf under lock and key these past few months. Are you, like, okay? I mean, obviously no, but- relatively! Aw, you know.”

Argo shrinks into himself. “I don’t know if _kidnapped_ is the right word, exactly, considering-,” He pauses. But Argo is a man of the truth first and foremost. “I did go there of my own, my own kind of volition.”

There’s a beat. 

“Now when you say that,” Rainer scrunches up her face. “Do you mean, like, he tricked you into going into the hell dimension so you only _technically_ went there on purpose, or like...?” she trails off.

“Or like.” Argo sighs. “I left because- I don’t know. I felt like I was doing something useful. I felt important while I was there. And sure, I was under some sort of spell, but I was still _me._ It was just that I felt better being there and worse when I tried to come back.”

“I mean, gods, Argo, if you were under a spell, even if you didn’t really feel like it was affecting your thinking, that’s still not- it’s still not really your fault.” Fitzroy says.

“It was, though! I knew I was under a spell, and I didn’t fight it. It didn’t put any thoughts in me that weren’t there already, just took advantage of them. And I’m-I’m sorry.” Argo shoves his hands into his pockets.

“Are you with us now?” the firbolg asks.

“If you’ll have me.” Argo offers.

The firbolg grabs him and hugs him tightly, humming into his ear. “We will always have you. I missed you. I would kiss you but I do not want to be stung.”

“I don’t think there are nematocysts on my face,” Argo whispers into his ear, and the firbolg presses a soft kiss to his cheek. 

“It would have been worth it even if there had been.” He says. 

Rainer giggles a second, but sobers up quickly. “What do we do next? Fitzroy? We have a few hours.”

Fitzroy stands. “We should finish getting ready. Rainer, Master Firbolg, why don’t the two of you go and make sure that we have a full cast of skeletal characters joining us this evening. I’ll take Argo up to the Wiggenstaffs. I’m sure they’ll want to know he’s back. That is, assuming that’s good with you?” They lock eyes, and Argo nods.

* * *

The time before evening is solemn, a lot of handing out weapons to students, making sure Leon is still okay even after spending so much time as a hawk, and collecting every healing potion they possibly can. 

Argo thinks about how his parting with the firbolg and rainer was so brief it was basically nothing, how he cannot remember the last words he said to them. He thinks about all of the people who he met months back and hasn’t talked to since, how it seems so far away and still like it was just yesterday. He gets a proper goodbye with Fitzroy only, the two of them squirreled away in a closet on the far end of the campus. 

“If we don’t make it out of this alive,” Fitzroy says. “I want you to have this.” He tilts his head to the side and kisses Argo. “It seems like the kind of thing a boyfriend should have. For luck.” 

“For luck.” Argo nods.

“We should talk about the nature of our relationship once this is over, but I’m glad to have you back. Don’t leave us again, okay?” Fitzroy grins. It’s a sad grin. 

“I’ll try.” Argo says. He wraps his arms around Fitzroy and buries his face into his shoulder. He smells like the air before a storm. 

It’s too short a time before they are at war. 

If there’s one thing Argo failed to anticipate, it’s just how bright this battle was going to be. Fitzroy hasn’t left his side yet, and electricity arcs off of him, striking demons dead with a finality that Argo has come to expect from him. 

Argo himself feels he is doing well. There’s a bloody hole in his right arm that is making his arm grow more tired, and he’s felt the power of a few bolts of lightning that have struck a little too close to the ground near his feet, but he’s run a good number of demons through. 

He offers a quick “Heya, Tim!” To the arminite who used to guard his room before driving a knife through his shoulder. As he does though, the defending demon reaches to his belt and sets off what looks and sounds like a firework. It explodes in the sky with a bright blue flash, scorching Argo enough that he takes a second to down a healing potion. 

Tim is strong, but Argo’s bladework is quick, and he’s slippery enough that he gets the upper hand, thrusting directly into his heart. 

Then a volt of pain travels through him, and he screams. He hears the air around him explode, and he has space to fall. He is dunked into ice water, so freezing cold he feels he can’t breathe.

Argo gasps as he’s suddenly confronted with all of the pain of being dumped into a pit of a thousand sea urchins but with no discernible source. He goes abruptly from being cold to being way, way too warm. He screams, dropping to the ground. There are hands on his skin, deliciously cool, but fleeting. He can see Fitzroy’s face, partially obscured by the roses that crawl up his body and around his face. His bones snap and bend and fold, tearing through muscle and skin. He’s soaked in his own blood and sweat, and through the ringing in his ears he can hear a sort of thick noise that he thinks might be crying. Then Argo’s eyelids are so tired, and he can’t keep them open any longer. 

Hands on his face - wide and calloused, like Fitzroy’s, but not - he could recognise these hands anywhere. He opens his eyes, but he still can’t see anything. The air around him is crisp and cool, but not harsh, just refreshing. His mother presses her lips to his forehead. Argo reaches up to try and touch her and is met only with space and air. He can’t bring himself to make words, just barely managing a whine. Shebrie Keene runs a hand through his hair and her other palm on his chest, and with one quick shove Argo is back in the real world.

He sees through his eyes, unable to move or make a sound, unable to do anything but watch as he feels his own hand clasp around Florence and turn to swing at Fitzroy. He maneuvers almost quickly enough, but Argo still catches one of his ears, slicing it clean off. 

It feels like his brain is covered in plastic wrap, and he has no choice but to struggle to break through it as he sees himself exchange blows with Fitzroy, until he snaps enough of it to tear it off of him. 

And once he is back in possession of his own body, he is so much _more_ than he was. He can feel spindly legs extend from his back, curving tentacles with rows of suckers, thin rings of sharp bone beneath his skin. 

He looks at Fitzroy and the bleeding side of his head, and something in him snaps. 

He is all crab legs and tentacles, with spines that tear through his skin and rows and rows and rows of teeth. He walks through hordes of pit fiends like he is taking a stroll in the park. They don’t matter anymore, and it is so easy to inject them with the truly terrible amounts of venom that runs through him. When he makes it to Grey he is towering and so fueled by rage at the knowledge of being manipulated like he was that the Kraken’s consumption of the Demon Prince is not a shark taking down a seal. 

Argo is a whale, and Grey is fucking krill. 

And then he doesn’t know anything anymore.

* * *

Argo wakes up a full week later, significantly less made of demon, and is welcomed back to life so gladly he thinks that Rainer’s skeletons would be jealous.


End file.
